An Ode to My Epiphany.
And since we’ll soon be on our ways Dream of breeze that touch your face Be brave to get drenched in the rain Count the efforts, even ones in vain I’ll try being the man you’d admire Maybe at the end I’d sigh with despair In some days I'd look into my mind, Fish for keepsakes, some memorial kind. You’ll fly high by then, in the clouds As a skylark through the misty shrouds Or on some mountain, an ancient tree Who sees the world with its own gravity I’ll slowly, maybe unknowingly, take my seat Under the shadow cover which boast of feat I’ll sink deep in sleep, forget where and when In hope I never see the world again, And I hope I never see the world again. ~Prat. Ancient trees, come hither.
